


by chance among the lightning strikes

by debacle



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, F/M, I apologize for nothing, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debacle/pseuds/debacle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"From the looks of you," she says, "you've never been anyone's good idea."</i>
</p>
<p>Clint is a thief, and Kate is bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by chance among the lightning strikes

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, this is so hilariously self-indulgent I can't even bring myself to care about how bad it is.  
> /runs cackling off into the sunset

Bishop Mansion – this place is huge, opulent, absurd, and it's not even where they _live_. A summer home, because rich people are like that, aren't they, they need homes for every season, in every place they'd ever think to go. Too good for hotels, Clint figures. He tries not to scowl, doesn't need to call attention to himself. It was hard enough just to get in.

It's broad daylight and sweltering and most of the men have stripped off their jackets and rolled up their shirt sleeves. Clint's grateful for that, he doesn't do so great in a suit. He mingles some, trying to formulate a plan in his mind. It would be easier to wait until most of the guests have moved inside, but then again, there's no telling when or if that will happen, and the longer he waits, the higher chance there is of someone noticing him and realizing he doesn't belong. Well, there's a pretty big chance it'll be his fault, so he needs to get in and out to minimize the odds of doing something stupid.

He's studied the floor plans and knows this place like the back of his hand, at least in theory, so he's pretty sure he knows where he needs to go. There are enough people avoiding the heat inside that he thinks he can slip through the crowd without being noticed. He takes a few steps toward the door, before he's startled by something cold being pressed into his hand.

"It's just water," says the girl holding the glass. She looks familiar, but Clint can't quite place her right away. She smiles at him, tilts her head to the side. "You haven't had anything to drink since you got here. Can't have the guests dehydrating on my watch. Can you imagine the scandal?"

After studying her face for a moment – her jet-black hair is pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, blue eyes glittering behind long, dark eyelashes – he finally recognizes her. She's a Bishop herself, Derek's youngest daughter. He should know her name, but it's slipped his mind. "Oh," he says, taking the glass from her. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She takes a sip of her own drink. "Sorry, I'm not sure who–"

"Harrison," he says, maybe a little too quickly. "Peter Harrison."

"Kate," she replies. She takes his hand and shakes it, not as daintily as Clint expects. "Bishop, but I guess you probably knew that. Sorry, I'm not the best at keeping up with Dad's… associates. I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're very important." She's smiling again. "Nice to meet you, Mister Harrison."

"Pleasure's all mine." He needs an excuse to get away from her and get inside, so he opts for tried and true. "I'm sorry, but I gotta, uh–"

Kate laughs. "Bathroom's right inside. Hallway on the right, first door on the left."

He thanks her and heads into the mansion. The foyer – Christ, he'd never needed to know what a fuckin' foyer was until he started doing this, it's a room with no point whatsoever – is decorated lavishly, with marble busts that are probably worth astronomical sums, but there's no way he's sneaking one of those things out of there, not in this crowd. He brushes his fingers over them appreciatively as he passes; he's no art expert, but stealing from the rich is practically an education in itself, so he knows good work when he sees it. At least, he knows what's worth money, and as far as he's concerned, that's pretty much the same thing.

He sets his water on a table, idling there for a second before walking away. His destination is down the hallway Kate pointed him towards, so he heads in that direction, passing the bathroom without stopping. When he comes to the right door he knows it from the locks – higher tech, more secure. They don't pose much of a problem, and he's in without tripping any alarms. The room he enters is a study of some kind, and after closing the door quietly behind him he goes through the desk drawers until he finds what he's looking for. When he sees it, he smiles, picks it up in gloved fingers and examines it – a hard drive. He's about to congratulate himself on a job well done, almost forgetting to wonder at just how easy this was, but of course he does –  and as soon as he thinks it, the door creaks open behind him. He turns around slowly.

"This isn't the bathroom, Mister Harrison." Kate leans against the door frame, arms folded across her chest. She doesn't look angry, she's got a smirk plastered across her face and she raises one eyebrow.

Clint's talked himself out of some tight spots, but he can't really think of an excuse for this – he can hardly say it was an accident, considering the locks. Anyway, he tends to go stupid around pretty women, and while he's not a hundred percent sure how old Kate is, she's certainly pretty – he can't help noticing, he's only human. "Um," he says.

Kate laughs quietly. "What are you here for?"

He thinks for a moment and decides he's already caught so he may as well be honest – he holds up the drive.

Kate looks down the long hallway for a moment, then looks back at him. She gestures toward the hall. "Come with me."

Clint swallows, turning to put the drive back where he found it, but Kate shakes her head. "Take it, _then_ come with me."

He isn't quite sure what to think about that, except that she probably wants proof of his crime when she turns him in to her father, so he puts the drive in his pocket. He tries to work out a way out of this – he could slip away from her, make a run for it, but that'd certainly cause a commotion. It's not exactly that he's opposed to commotion, but he's not sure he can make it off the grounds with the whole party alerted to his presence, so he follows the girl.

Kate leads him down the hallway and out the door. As they walk, she makes casual conversation, small talk about the weather, gossip about the society ladies that surround them. Clint can't make heads or tails of her. He's sure they're heading to Derek Bishop or his security, but before he realizes it, they're at the gate.

"Have a lovely afternoon, Mister Harrison," Kate says. She gives him a wink.

"Wh–"

Kate rolls her eyes and shoves him out of the gate. She presses a slip of paper into his palm, mouths the word _go_ , and he looks at her for a moment more before he takes the opportunity and does what she says.  

 

 

Clint doesn't read the note, shoved into one of his pockets, until he gets back to where he's staying. On it, in pen, is a phone number and the words _come back Wednesday, 2 PM._ And beneath that, apparently scrawled as an afterthought, _you can trust me._

He's still not sure about the last part, less because he thinks Kate's going to turn him in and more because he can't figure her out. If she wanted to get him in trouble she could have done it at the party, but what could she possibly want from him? If she plans on blackmailing him, he can't imagine what he could give her that she doesn't already have.

It would be smart to ignore it altogether, get the drive to the people who hired him and get the hell out of town like he planned. But Clint is curious and maybe not the smartest, so he decides to go anyway.

He returns to the mansion on Wednesday at two in the afternoon, anxiously looking around for any signs of a trap. There's nothing, and when he gets to the gate, Kate is already waiting for him. She's wearing a yellow sundress and she looks like summer, beaming at him when she sees him. "I wasn't sure you'd show," she says.

Clint follows her inside the gates. "I wasn't really sure myself," he admits. "You planning on blackmailing me for something? Turning me in to the mafia?"

Kate laughs. "No and no. Anyway, my dad owns a publishing company. He's an ass, but he doesn't have mafia connections."

"You never know," Clint says. He doesn't know what to do besides follow her, and she leads him around to the pool in the mansion's backyard. The whole place is quiet.

When Clint remarks on that, Kate says, "I'm the only one here. Dad's on a trip, so I've got the place to myself. Well, besides the staff, but I sent them home for the day."

"You have a staff." It's not really a question, of course they do, but Clint's still not quite used to people whose homes operate like five-star hotels.

"Sit," Kate says. "If you want."

Clint sits down in one of the chairs and watches her. When she pulls her dress over her head, Clint almost averts his eyes until he realizes that she's wearing a bikini underneath. It's a dark violet color, and as is the case with most swimsuits, doesn’t leave all that much to the imagination. He's trying not to pay attention to the curve of her ass or her long, smooth legs and Christ, how old is this girl anyway? He gets the strange feeling that he's making reservations in a particularly fiery section of hell.

Kate sits down on the side of the pool and dips her feet in the water.

"Why'd you tell me to come over?" Clint asks after a few moments pass.

She turns toward him and shrugs almost imperceptibly. "I just wanted to talk."

"Talk? You catch a man stealing from your dad and your reaction is 'I totally wanna hang out with this guy'?"

"I'm not my dad's biggest fan. Besides, you're interesting," she says. "Something new. D'you know how boring everyone I know is? They're awful. Rich people are incredibly tedious."

Clint laughs. "You're rich people."

"True, but I don't particularly enjoy it." She kicks up a splash of water and turns her face back towards the pool. "That sounds bad. I appreciate it, I really do – I have so much that other people don't, you know? But I didn't earn it. And none of this –" She waves her hand at the mansion. "– is really necessary. We don't need it. I'd sell the place and give the money to charity if it was up to me."

Clint can't see her face as she speaks, but she sounds pretty damn sincere.

"I'm not trying to, I don't know, sound like I feel sorry for myself or anything. I just – I wanna help people, I guess." She lies back and looks up at the sky. "Whatever. This isn't about that. I guess a name'd be too much to ask for?"

Clint looks at her. "Y'think?"

"Hey," she says. "You know me. You know my name, you know where I live, I bet you know everything about me. I think I deserve to know something about you."

"I don't know everything about you," he says. "I don't even know how old you are."

"Fine, avoid the question. I guess the mystery will keep you interesting." Kate sits up, swings her legs over the edge of the pool and stands. The way she walks toward him has to be deliberate, but she makes it look effortless – the casual swaying of her hips, the way she pushes loose strands of her hair behind her ear. "Make something up."

"I grew up in the circus. Sometimes I pretend to be Robin Hood." Both statements are true, but Clint figures the line between truth and fiction doesn’t matter too much at the moment.

Kate's standing next to him now, so he tilts his head up to look her in the eye. "What was on that drive?" she asks.

"No idea," Clint says, and it's the truth. "Someone paid me an astronomical amount of cash to steal it. I don't normally do that kinda thing, y'know, stealing information. Mostly I steal expensive shit from people who won't miss it, but like I said –" He smiles. "Astronomical amount of cash. Even by your standards."

Kate clasps her hands behind her back and leans forward. Quietly, her mouth right by his ear, she says, "Nineteen."

"Huh?"

"Now you know," she says, and kisses him lightly on the cheek. She seems to sort of linger there while Clint's brain works overtime to process what's going on, and in what he'd definitely refer to as a severe lapse in judgment he turns so his lips brush against hers. She kisses him slowly, he rests his hand against the back of her neck and after a moment she sits sideways across his lap.

Her mouth tastes like strawberries and _goddammit_. "This is a bad idea," Clint says.

Kate pulls away and leans back. She puts her hand under his chin and tilts his face back gently, studying him. "From the looks of you," she says, "you've never been anyone's good idea."

She's so right it's like a punch in the gut, and he doesn't stop her from kissing him again. One of his hands is on her neck and the other is pressed against the small of her back and her skin is sun-kissed warm but he can feel goosebumps as they rise.

Clint feels like he could kiss her forever – the only reason he really stops himself is that he feels like the mansion is staring at him, burning holes in the back of his head. He can't do this, not here. So he stops, and when Kate pulls away her eyes are questioning.

Clint says, "Why do you, y'know, want to. This, I mean." Kate looks somewhat amused, and Clint sighs. "You know what I mean."

"I need something –" She chews on her bottom lip for a second. "– different. Something new."

_Something new_. And Clint can be that, he figures, although he thinks he should be offended that she wants him because of his novelty value (then again, he shouldn't be considering this in the first place, and he can't quite figure out why he is, except that she's beautiful and reminds him of something he never really had in the first place). "Not here," he says.

Kate looks mildly offended, but Clint just shakes his head and pushes lightly against her back until she moves. He stands up, adjusting his shirt and his jeans. "I'll – I'll call you," he says.

She crosses her arms. Something in her face is sadder than he really expects. "You're not gonna call me, are you?"

He isn't really sure. "I'll call you," he repeats anyway.

 

 

Clint has probably done stupider things than call her, but at the moment, he can't think of any.

 

 

The hotel is a tough decision – Clint can't make up his mind if he should get a room somewhere nice (because she deserves it) or somewhere cheap and sketchy (because, hell, she said she wanted something new) – but, eventually, he decides that second one is a terrible idea. So the hotel's a little nicer than he'd spring for under any other circumstances, and Kate seems to belong, even dressed casually enough to be completely inconspicuous.

She meets him outside and he leads her to the room – when he opens the door, she slips in ahead of him, kicking off her shoes and sitting down on the bed. When he's close enough, she grabs him and pulls him down beside her, kissing him. She's not interested in wasting time, he observes, amused, but then again, he did leave her hanging the last time.

"Will you tell me your name now?" Kate asks.

Clint smirks at her. "Nice try, girly."

She looks at him all sweet and says, "Then what am I supposed to say while you fuck me?"

He blinks, briefly at a loss for words before he finds them again. "Whatever you want, sweetheart, though I'd prefer you screamed it." He tries not to grimace. _C'mon, Clint, you can do better._

She throws her head back, laughing. He's so busy watching her face that he doesn't think to pay attention to her hands until he feels one of them pressed up against his cock through his jeans. He kisses her hard, once, then tugs at the hem of her shirt until she raises her arms and lets him strip it off. She reaches for the button on her own pants, so he stands and takes care of his shirt – as soon as it's gone, Kate's hands are against his chest, dragging down his stomach to the waistline of his jeans. She pushes them down with his underwear in one move, and she wraps her hand around him, stroking slowly until he's completely hard.

Kate barely breaks eye contact as she leans forward – her tongue swirls across the head of his cock and he groans. She's sloppy and clearly not extremely practiced, but it doesn't matter because her mouth is around him and it feels amazing – he tangles his fists in her hair and tries to keep still. Eventually he pulls her away (a little harder than he means to, but she doesn't seem too bothered). "Kate. Jesus."

She looks him in the eye. "I need you to fuck me," she says. "Hard." She sits back on the bed, unclasping her bra. "And I'm not just saying that. I can take it."

"I do appreciate a woman who knows what she wants," Clint says, grinning. He leans down to kiss her, then she moves back toward the headboard to give him room. She lies back and he's on his knees over her; he mouths his way down her neck and chest, takes one of her nipples in his mouth and brushes a thumb over the other one. From the sounds she's making, she seems to like it, so he keeps his mouth there as he trails his hand down her stomach.

Clint slips his hand under the waistband of her panties and down, and Kate's back arches at the touch. She's definitely not quiet, which, honestly, he's loving, and she lets out this gorgeous moan when he slips one of his fingers inside her and bites at her nipple. Another finger, and her hips are rolling as she tries to rub her clit against his palm, he works his way back up her neck and nips at her earlobe. Her hands grip the blankets, and he lifts his head so he can see her face when she comes, which doesn't take long; she clenches around him, her thighs squeezing his hand, and once she comes down from her orgasm she smiles at him.

"You still good?" he asks.

"Fuck yes," she says.

He kisses her quietly for a moment, until she pushes his head away. "C'mon, let's do this, I want–" and it's not really an unfinished sentence, he thinks. She _wants_. That's fine. He can give her what she wants, he thinks. He can certainly try.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he says. "If it's too much."

"I know. It won't be."

She lifts her hips so he can pull her soaked panties off. "Turn over," he says. She nods and does, hands and knees, and Clint takes a moment to enjoy the view – nothing about her isn't gorgeous, he thinks, and he runs his hands over her ass appreciatively, before he sits up on his knees and presses up against her.

"Do it," she says. "C'mon."

Clint moves his cock down, rubbing it over her clit and back up, and she rocks her hips backwards. "Aw, Katie, you're gonna have to learn to ask nicely."

She looks at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. "Please."

"Please what?"

" _Please_ put your dick in me, you asshole," she says.

He laughs. "Still don't like your tone, but I guess I can let it slide this time," he says, and pushes into her slowly, letting her adjust. A few slow thrusts, and then – well, if she wants hard, he can give her hard. He holds tightly to her hips and slams into her, and it's amazing, she's so tight around him and she sounds as into it as he is. She presses her face into the pillow, but he reaches forward and grabs her hair, pulling her back up, and doesn't let go. She moves one of her hands between her legs, working at her clit as he fucks her, moaning wordlessly, apparently doing just fine without his name. He hadn't realized how close he was, until she's coming again and he feels her muscles squeezing him, he pulls out quickly and she gasps.

Kate turns quickly; she slaps his hand away and dips her head, taking as much of him in her mouth as she can.

"Kate, fuck, Katie, you don't want me to –"

She pulls away for only a brief moment to say, "I really do," and it's too much and Clint grips her hair and holds her there as he comes. She sits back, grimacing a little and wiping her mouth off.

"Well," Clint says, and flops down onto his back. Kate falls back beside him and laughs and laughs.

 

 

"This is a bad idea," Clint says, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Kate is probably his worst idea yet, and that's saying something.

Kate just tilts her head and smiles at him. She looks fantastic in her deep red dress ( _"It's not my color_ ," she had argued, but she'd bought it after he demonstrated just how much he liked it, right there in the fitting room), but he tries not to think about it, not now. "It'll be fine, Clint," she says – she knows his name now, and she makes a point to use it whenever she can. Whenever she's not calling him names, at least.

He doesn't know what to do with her. She defies all expectations, he can't figure her out, can't pin her down. Beyond that, though, he can't get rid of her. He's kidding himself if he thinks he's even tried.

She grabs him by the tie and pulls him down to meet her, kissing him with no lack of confidence.

"Whatever you say, Katie," he says, once she's finally let him go.

 

 

Jewels tumble out of Kate's bra later that night, and Clint can't help but laugh.

"I ran out of room in my purse," Kate says, making a face at him. He can't help but love her enthusiasm, and he knows it's not the jewelry, not the money – he should hate himself for this.

He sits on the hotel bed and pulls Kate into his lap, kissing the marks left on her skin by stolen jewels. For a moment, he wonders if he's stolen her too, but he thinks she's something no thief could take. "Your dad's gonna start looking for you," Clint says against her skin. "He'll fuckin' kill me for this." At the moment, the thought doesn't scare him that much.

Kate hums. "He'll never find you," she says. "He'll never find us."

"Okay," Clint says. He can't guarantee that, but when she says it, he believes her. 


End file.
